James Salter
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The Benefit of Barking Up the Wrong Tree: Talking with Joshua Henkin
Joshua Henkin discusses his new novel, MORNINGSIDE HEIGHTS.
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The Sunday Rumpus Essay: The Year of Light and Dark
It isn’t much of a contest to say that Julie Coyne is the single most inspirational human being I have ever met. And I am here—in Xela—in part because I could use a little inspiration.
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The Rumpus Interview with Stephanie Danler
Stephanie Danler discusses her debut novel, Sweetbitter, writing sensually, and the power of an authentic voice.
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The Rumpus Interview with Brendan Jones
Brendan Jones talks about his debut novel, The Alaskan Laundry, living in Alaska, his time as a Wallace Stegner Fellow, and living and loving what you write.
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The Rumpus Poetry Book Club Chat with Thorpe Moeckel
The Rumpus Poetry Book Club chats with Thorpe Moeckel about his new book Arcadia Road, the challenge of writing long poems, raising twins, and camo thongs.
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The Last Book I Loved: Solo Faces
Reading Solo Faces, I felt like I was peering into a life Matt and I once longed for, one I never entered completely.
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The Lonely Voice #31: So Long, James Salter
But our bodies and our brains don’t seem designed, ultimately, to cooperate and Salter joins the ranks of the dead where he doesn’t belong.
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All That Is by James Salter
James Salter’s new novel, All That Is – his first in thirty-four years – is a masterpiece. At the moment, the span of years between Salter’s books has got people interested in him. In a recent New Yorker profile, Nick…
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Life and Times of A Bibliophile
“The love of books, the possession of them, can be thought of as an extension of one’s self or being, not separate from a love of life but rather as an extra dimension of it, and even of what comes…
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Erik Evenson: The Last Book I Loved, Last Night
I am here to do two things: scream the praises of James Salter, and throw a few questions about his place in the larger scope of literature into the mix. How did I make it through a college lit class…
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On the Superiority of James Salter
“The first time I read A Sport and a Pastime, just two years ago, I knew I’d experienced something unusual, alive, difficult in its directness; not something to look upon “fondly,” but a story that, like all great art, connected…
